A Helping Hand
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Mandrea. They're on the road and Merle offers Andrea a helping hand.
**AN: This one has been sitting in my prompt box for a while since people ask for smut when you know that it's not really my thing. LOL But—here's the best I've got to give you. (No Merle like puns intended.)**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Everyone in the whole house was asleep. From the crowded upstairs to the slightly less-crowded lower level, everyone was passed out. The only people awake were those who were outside, on the screened-in porch, keeping watch during their shift, and Andrea.

Andrea knew this because she'd checked. She'd gone, as quietly as she could, and checked on her travelling companions.

Of course they were asleep. The prison had fallen. They hadn't found a single safe place to land. The Governor was dead but the Walker population still threatened to overtake them at every turn. They spent their nights sleeping with one eye open, all of them living with the certain dread that the Governor wasn't the last of his kind. Somewhere, out there, was someone else who would be against them—rather than just accepting that they were all in this together.

Even within their "family" unit, there was frustration. There was hurt and anger over a multitude of little _slights_. They were things that, eventually, would be worked out like getting the knots out of a piece of string, but they were going to take time and patience.

Now, when they slept, all that frustration and fatigue came crashing down on them and they were left almost collapsing into the first spot made available for them. It made it impossible for them to stay awake any longer than they absolutely had to. Sleep took over.

Except—there were other things that took over sometimes as well.

Andrea gathered up her blanket and the semi-flattened couch cushion that she was calling a pillow and she crept to the farthest corner of what was once the living room of the house. She arranged herself on the floor and covered herself with the blanket. She was sure that she was as alone as she could possibly get—privacy really gone from them all—and that no one was paying her any attention. She was only sharing the room, even, with two other people. There absolutely wasn't going to be a better arrangement.

And frustration, of all sorts, had to be dealt with.

Under the blanket, Andrea slipped the cotton pants down as far as she dared. She still needed, in an emergency, to have the ability to be fully dressed again in a matter of seconds. She sucked in a breath, willed herself to relax as much as she could against the floorboards, and exhaled as she slipped her hand between her legs.

She'd been doing this for as long as she could remember. She was no prude and she certainly didn't believe that she simply had to sit around and just wait for someone to help her out with these things. She knew exactly what she liked and, sometimes, she almost prided herself on the fact that she was pretty sure she could win some kind of Olympic Event—if such a thing existed—for being able to get herself from start to big-finish in the least amount of time possible.

But tonight it didn't seem to be working. No matter how hard she focused on not focusing on a thing, she was distracted. She was—something—and she certainly wasn't hitting all the right buttons with all the right timing. She stopped once and started again, willing herself to relax more, but the second time she stopped, she did so with a growl.

 _She wanted this. Privacy was at its peak for what the road had to offer them. And she was so stuck in her head that she couldn't even get herself off—and she knew exactly what she liked._

If she had her vibrator, this would never happen.

"I could lend you a hand, ya know," Andrea heard. She jumped, assuring herself that her body was covered with the blanket. She let out a breath when she realized that Merle, one of the few people sharing the room with her, was awake and had worked himself quietly across the floor to be closer to her. He laughed at her surprise. "Just seen you was struggling, sugar. Offer's on the table—won't even charge you for it. No— _reciprocation._ This one's on the house."

"I'm not doing anything," Andrea responded back, her voice no louder than his so that they wouldn't risk waking up anyone else. He hummed.

"Not now, you not," he responded.

Andrea lie there for a moment. Her stomach twisted in knots and she didn't know if it was because it was Merle that was talking to her or if it was just the nerves of thinking she might actually give into him. Merle—being Merle—moved closer to her and actually placed his entire pallet next to her like they were bunk buddies at camp. He propped himself up on his elbow and faced her. She could barely make him out in the dark room.

Merle rested his left hand on Andrea's leg, on top of the blanket, and she jerked. He laughed quietly.

"Easy sugar," he crooned at her. "Ain't nothin' gonna happen you don't say happens. I'm just offerin' you a hand." He laughed. "The one good one I got left. Might as well use it for somethin'— _worthwhile."_

Andrea let her eyes trail to the arm whose hand was missing. The elbow was holding him up—the bayonet was gone for the night, even though the cuff remained in place. She looked at his face, or what she could make out of it, and he was smiling at her. She'd expected a smirk, but he didn't look as smug as she thought he normally did. He rubbed his hand over her leg, still on top of the blanket.

"What'cha say?" He asked. "I ain't gonna wait forever—gotta sleep sometime. Sweet as the offer might be."

Andrea swallowed and heard herself humming in agreement with him—heard herself humming out the request. He pressed her, though, asking her if that's what she was trying to say. Was that little "whimper" sound supposed to mean "yes" and if it did? Well, it wasn't too flattering.

So she finally breathed out the word for him, tacked on a please to be nice, and was surprised that she accepted when he raised himself over her and kissed her lips while his fingers found the place where her t-shirt and the blanket met.

Andrea moaned into his mouth the minute that his fingers found their mark. He stifled the sound, but for good measure he broke the kiss and laughingly shushed her before he put his face next to hers—his warm breath blowing on her skin even as his fingers did their best to coax out of her the response that she hadn't been able to get from herself. It seemed to be working. Absentmindedly, Andrea spread her legs and angled her body more toward him—offering him easier access—as he slipped his fingers inside her.

She forgot that she was supposed to be focusing on her silence. The only thing that reminded her was when Merle whispered at her.

"Yeah—mmm hmmm—you like that," he said. "Knew ya would..."

Andrea's concentration broke for just a moment. She thought she'd feel disgusted by it—by him—but she didn't. She wasn't able to. She moved her hand and searched him out. She found that he was hard and waiting—but as he'd promised, he was still fully clothed. He'd expected no reciprocation. He stopped, when she touched him, touching her. She almost protested, but she didn't. Instead she rolled her body even more to face him and tried to fumble in the darkness to undo his pants.

"What're you doing?" He asked, his voice no louder than before.

Andrea surprised herself when she was the one that covered his mouth with her own. He responded with enthusiasm and she accepted his kisses with a hunger she hadn't known was there.

"You have to be quiet," she said. "Still..."

He snorted, louder than she might have liked.

"Won't be much fun then," he teased.

"As quiet as we can be," Andrea responded, not put off by his teasing. She freed him of his pants and had barely used one leg to free her other leg, from the pants she'd never fully gotten off, before he took her up on the invitation. He didn't wait and he didn't ask if she was ready—but of course he'd know well the condition of things—before he got into the best position he could to join them together. He covered her mouth with his own, catching the breath she exhaled at the new sensation of him sliding as fully into her as he could.

He set the rhythm and she accepted it. She adjusted herself under him the best she could and slipped her hand between them to finish what he'd started. She didn't know, exactly, what limitations his handicap might create for him in the new position. But if it created any substantial problem, Andrea was unaware of it. She came before he did and only the first uncontrollable sounds escaped her before he covered her mouth with his again and muffled the rest.

To stifle his own moans, a moment later, he buried his face against her neck and nipped gently at the skin there after he'd relaxed. Andrea closed her eyes to the added pressure of his body against hers as he took a moment to regain his composure and finally to roll off of her.

Immediately, breathing still ragged, he was working his way back into his pants. Seeing him struggle slightly, Andrea rolled to help him. Then she focused her attention on getting back into her own. She flicked her blanket over her again and heard him laugh quietly.

"Every damn thing you got's gonna be stuck to you in the morning," Merle said when Andrea hummed at him to ask what the laughter was for. "Might wanna remember that shit if you keepin' this any kind of secret at all." Andrea growled to herself.

"You're a pig, Merle," she growled at him. That only renewed his amusement at the moment.

"Yeah—but you sure did have you a taste for the damn sausage," he commented.

And Andrea, whether or not she was willing to admit it to Merle, hadn't minded it at all. In fact, she'd enjoyed herself more than she would have alone. Of course, she wasn't going to say that to him. Instead, she simply rolled on her side and got comfortable.

"Thanks for the hand," she said, offering him nothing else.

Merle moved just a little distance away from her—not really even enough to count—to make it look like they weren't practically sharing the same pallet on the floor.

"Any time, sugar," he said. "Any time."


End file.
